Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Death Is Nothing At All by Henry Scott Holland I have only slipped away into the other room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used, Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed, At the little jokes that we enjoyed together, Play, smile, think of me and pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without a ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is death but a neglibible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval. Somewhere very near, just around the corner, all is well.
